


Painted Dreams

by patient_blossoms



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, Painting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 14:18:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13615125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patient_blossoms/pseuds/patient_blossoms





	Painted Dreams

 

The first glow of dawn crept into the silent room. Steve barely noticed it, engrossed in his work as he was. He set his mouth in a determined line and outlined some details he wanted to fix later, noting their position before the lighting of the room changed too drastically. He set down his brush, grimacing at the canvas before him. Something felt off about this portrait. His eyes scanned the room, comparing the shadowy shapes in it to the ones in his painting. They came to rest on his model, his muse, his Bucky.

Steve’s expression softened as he watched the quiet rise and fall of his bare chest. He loved these moments in the quiet stillness just before dawn. Bucky slept peacefully, still draped across the sofa he had been posed on the night before. Steve drank in every detail, wishing that he could capture this moment exactly as it was. The tendrils of hair that fell across his face, the breadth of his shoulders, the curve of his hip that Steve knew a little too well. The constellations of scars that covered his body.

Steve knew every one of them. He had spent an entire week of nights learning where they came from and kissing each one. He wished they weren’t there; nobody should be able to hurt his Bucky, especially deep enough to scar. He shook his head, clearing away the thoughts of revenge that crept to mind. Bucky didn’t want him to get involved. Besides, most of the people who had given him the scars were dead anyways.

He focused again instead on the way Bucky’s eyelashes brushed his cheeks as he slept and the way the blanket he’d been covered with had slipped until it settled into that place where his waist dipped inwards. It was the perfect handhold, in his opinion. The best place to grab to draw Bucky closer at night. To wrap him in his arms and inhale his scent and never let him go. God, he never wanted to let go. He wanted to hold him tight and protect him from the world that had been so cruel to them both.

Steve steadied his breathing and glanced at the portrait again. He knew why it looked wrong. He’d never be able to capture the love and pain and sheer amount of emotion he felt for the beautiful man before him on canvas. There was no color or medium or shadow or light that would immortalize Bucky the way he deserved. Everyone else who saw this portrait would praise Steve’s talent and compare him to the Renaissance masters. Only he would know that he had failed yet again to do his muse justice.

He sighed quietly as he stood from his chair. His entire body ached. For once it was not from fighting, but from sitting in one place all night. He stretched and walked over to the widow. Steve crossed his arms and stared pensively out, watching the city begin to stir below. He didn’t turn from the sunrise, even as he heard rustling from the couch behind him. His eyes burned as they remained fixed on the horizon. He heard Bucky stretch and shuffle over to the window where Steve was. Steve smiled wryly; for an assassin, Bucky could be awfully loud. Bucky wrapped his arms sleepily around Steve’s waist and buried his face in his shoulder. They stayed that way for a moment before Bucky moved to rest his cheek on Steve’s shoulder.

“You’ve been up all night again.” Bucky said softly.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Steve grunted.

“More like didn’t try,” Bucky scoffed. He glanced back at the portrait before settling back into Steve’s shoulder. “You know I’m not as angelic as you make me out to be in these paintings.”

“And you’re not as terrible as you think you are,” Steve replied.

Bucky hummed softly to himself. “You’ve been thinking again.” It wasn’t a question. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Steve let the words hang in the air and continued looking out the window.

Bucky let loose a deep yawn and settled back into Steve’s shoulder for a moment. He hugged him tighter around the waist and buried his face in Steve’s neck. He mumbled something that Steve didn’t quite catch.

“Hmmm?” Steve grunted.

Bucky sighed and stepped away. “Come back to bed.” He held out his hand expectantly.

Steve looked into his eyes. Sometimes they were dark brown and hard like steel. This morning, the rising sun melted them into warm chocolate pools. Bucky’s face was open and inviting. He still looked vulnerable and soft from sleep. Steve couldn’t possibly resist him. He raked one hand through his sandy hair and took one last look at the sleepy city. Everything else could wait. Right now, his Bucky wanted him, and he’d be damned if he let him sleep alone.

Bucky smiled as Steve took his hand. He pulled him over to their bed and peeled Steve’s shirt off. He kissed him hard on the mouth, as though claiming Steve for the first time. He transitioned to softer kisses that trailed down Steve’s neck and collar bone before pulling Steve down onto the bed. Bucky laughed as they flopped onto the mattress together. He cradled his head in one arm and pulled Steve closer with the other. Bucky snuggled into Steve’s back like he could never be close enough to him. Steve relaxed into Bucky’s arms, his troubling thoughts slipping away. He might never be able to capture a perfect representation of Bucky on canvas, but Bucky was beautiful and warm and  _his._

And as the sun rose over the city and they melted into each other’s arms for a few more hours, Steve decided that was enough.


End file.
